


the days don't belong to us

by vaporstretch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Car Accidents, Death, Food Metaphors, Grief, Miya Atsumu-centric, Miya Twins, Siblings, Vomiting, slight sakuatsu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaporstretch/pseuds/vaporstretch
Summary: "After all, it was always in Atsumu’s nature to do everything he can to be stronger, better. It was what made him great, but now in the face of his greatest affliction, it had served as his downfall. Osamu, after all, was his biggest blessing."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	the days don't belong to us

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Miya Twins Bday Month!
> 
> Initially wanted to release this on the 5th, but I got caught up with work and I struggled with the final parts of the fic so I ended up postponing it. Anyway this fic is quite heavy. A lot of matters relating to grief and struggling with it. But I promise you it gets better by the end. Stay safe, folks.

The izakaya is teeming with life, warm and welcoming to the residents of Hyogo who are looking for a perfect way to end the work week. It’s already evening and the autumn chill has begun to overwhelm the last traces of summer in the prefecture. There are the usual patrons of the izakaya, the kansai dialect prominent among the congenial chatter. New faces are, however, present inside the izakaya. Faces belonging in particular to the members of the MSBY Black Jackals. 

The team just wrapped up a match. However the reason for their post-game activity, which is to sip on just enough alcohol and of course gorge on yakitori, was not out of triumphant celebration, but rather to nurse their respectively bruised athlete’s ego, save perhaps for Bokuto who was as energetic as ever as he downed a glass of cool beer while engaging Hinata on possible plays for an upcoming match.

Atsumu on the other hand, against his better judgment, has involved himself with their team’s older members in the sense that he is definitely treading the fine line between tipsy and drunk as the rim of the sake glass skims his bottom lip.

The setter has definitely seen better days. After a mediocre performance in the first set, brought by his less-than-okay condition (which he did a shit job of covering up) their coach was compelled to bench him just ten minutes into the second set. He stayed in the sidelines until the game ended and to say that the loss did a number on him would be an understatement because since leaving the arena, not a word has left Atsumu’s mouth.

“You might wanna slow down on the sake, Miya,” Sakusa tells him, sparing him a wary glance, face mostly obscured by a face mask.

“Live a little, Omi-kun,” Atsumu slurs, the buzz of the alcohol already replacing the feelings of remorse and frustration.

Sakusa furrows his eyebrows at him. “Weren’t you intending to go home to your family tonight?”

Atsumu dismissively waves his hand, the one which in particular is still grasping the shiny sake glass full of the liquid and so he absentmindedly spills a bit on his own pant leg. “Don’t worry. ‘Samu can come pick me up.”

An exasperated sigh escapes Sakusa’s mouth. “Just make sure you don’t throw up beside me. Or else I’ll seriously kill you.”

“I’m already dead, Omi-kun,” Atsumu mutters before bringing the glass to his mouth and downing the sake in one go. 

It’s never been in Atsumu’s nature to drown out his sorrows with alcohol then proceeding to be dramatic about it. But today was an exception. The days leading up to their match in Hyogo had brought about some sort of pressure on Atsumu. Maybe it was how the city he had grown up in was calling Atsumu their hometown pride ever since there were rumors of him possibly playing in the next summer Olympics. Maybe it was the presence of that new team setter, a young and tenacious 19 year-old fresh out of high school. Maybe it was that deep unsettling push that still lingers inside Atsumu to prove that he’s the happier twin.

And in so responding to that pressure, Atsumu resigned himself to practicing and perfecting a new serve which definitely took a toll on him physically. It was embarrassing to say the least how the dull ache in his joints had caused him to stutter in his movements on court, how a million thoughts began to race in his head in panic and so tosses were fumbled, plays were misread, and ultimately the dreaded shrill of the whistle snapped him out of it in set two when he was substituted only to never be brought back in the game.

“Don’t sweat it, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto had told him while giving his back a jovial pat. “The opposing team was really good after all.”

It didn’t matter to Atsumu whether or not their opponents were good. What was important was that he was better and today, he failed. Now the sweet burn of alcohol that continued to slide down his gullet is doing a good enough job of making him forget.

The group stayed for another hour until it was time to leave and safe to say, the line between tipsy and shit-faced drunk was completely crossed by one Miya Atsumu.

“Alright let’s go,” Bokuto hoists Atsumu from his seat, eventually letting the setter lean against him as they walk outside into the cool evening.

“Did you call your brother already, Miya?” Inunaki asks. “We can always tell the team’s bus driver to drop you off.”

“No, no,” Atsumu attempts to stand on his own which by some miracle he manages to pull off. “He’s on his way.”

As if right on cue, a dark grey Toyota SUV turns a corner and comes into view before coming to a stop in front of the izakaya.

“And your carriage awaits,” Adriah teases.

Atsumu saunters over to the car, but just as he places his hand on the door handle, Osamu pops out from the driver's side.

“‘Tsumu I swear if you throw up inside this car--”

“Will people stop telling me that I’m going to throw up?!” Atsumu yells back. “Because I won’t, okay?”

Osamu sighs. “Just get in the damn car.”

“Bye, Twins!” Bokuto waves at the two, the greeting left completely unreciprocated as the car speeds off. 

It’s silent inside the car and Osamu can’t help but wrinkle his nose when looking over at his brother.

“You reek of sake.”

“Fuck off.”

The soft whirr of the car’s motor fills the air before a red light signals Osamu to put on the brakes.

“I’m guessing you guys lost?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu turns away so he’s facing the window. “The coach benched me.”

“What?” 

“I said I got benched!” Atsumu spits out like he just took a swig of something rancid. Saying it out loud does something to Atsumu and the calming effects of the sake melts away as something similar to anger begins to replace it.

“This was all your fault, ‘Samu,” Atsumu murmurs. “You were always so good. But--”

“We’re not doing this again.” The light turns green and Osamu releases the brakes.

“You’re a coward,” Atsumu continues. “You were scared you weren’t going to get any better--”

“You’re drunk, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu cuts him off. “You don’t mean any of that.”

“No!” Atsumu turns to his twin. “I mean every single word. And that’s why you’re never going to be happier than me! You’re never going to be happy, period. Because you’re a coward! Because you run away, ‘Samu!”

Osamu mutters something under his breath as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“What did you say?” Atsumu asks him.

“I said that’s why you’re going to be alone forever because you’re an as--”

The collision happened in a heartbeat. The speeding truck came out of nowhere and it t-boned the SUV with impressive force. The last thing Atsumu heard was a horrible crunching sound of metal against metal before everything faded to black.

***

Two things Atsumu wished had been taught to him at school or anywhere else in general: 1. How to respond to people who tell you they’re sorry when expressing their condolences; and 2. How to deal with losing a twin you’ve known practically your entire life.

As to the first one, Atsumu has been trying to learn as he goes. The funeral has transpired for some time now and Atsumu has heard perhaps a thousand ‘we’re sorrys’ at this point from different relatives. The black suit he’s wearing itches because it hasn’t been washed since it was bought in a rush after his discharge from the hospital. The only other black suit Atsumu owned prior to this particular piece was the one he wore in middle school when their grandmother had passed away. He had always been meaning to buy a new one. He just never knew it would be for his own twin’s funeral.

And as to the second one, safe to say he has yet to dip his toes in any of the stages of grief.

His Black Jackals teammates and his former ones from Inarizaki had all come to visit. Aran greets him with a fierce hug, careful enough to make sure he doesn’t further injure Atsumu’s left arm that’s been placed in a cast and held by a sling. When they pull away, Atsumu makes out the tears that begin to well up in the corners of Aran’s eyes and this causes him to instantly look away and extract himself from Aran’s hold.

“Atsumu we’re so sorry,” Kita says softly. 

“It was terrible, what happened,” Suna puts a gentle hand on Atsumu’s shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly.

Atsumu suddenly feels sick and he swallows thickly before speaking. “I just need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

The bathroom, as it turns out, wasn’t as entirely unoccupied as Atsumu had hoped for it to be. Upon bursting through the wooden doors, he spots Sakusa casually washing his hands in the sink.

“Miya?” 

“I-uhh,” Atsumu stammers. He takes a deep breath then exhales slowly. “Was just looking for some place a little bit quiet. No people, ideally.”

“I understand,” Sakusa replies. Atsumu watches him as he carefully wipes his hands with a handkerchief before folding it neatly and tucking it away in the inside pocket of his own blazer. 

Sakusa begins to walk pass Atsumu, but halts just before he reaches the door. He turns on his heels to face the setter then reaches inside his pocket for something.

“Here,” Sakusa hands out a card he just pulled out from his wallet. “I’m a bit biased so I can’t say they’re as good as the one I’ve been seeing when I was still living in Tokyo, but this one’s in Osaka. Just a 15 minute bus ride from our dorm.”

Atsumu takes the card from Sakusa’s hand and he sees that it’s a calling card for a psychiatrist. “Yeah, sure.”

A wordless nod later and Sakusa exits the bathroom, leaving Atsumu alone.

Save for the languid drip of the water droplets from the faucet, the bathroom is entirely silent and Atsumu is immediately overwhelmed with exhaustion. His eyelids are heavy and an ache resonates throughout his injured arm. He thinks about going home and taking a hot shower. He thinks about finally getting out of that itchy black suit that still smells of the boutique from where it was purchased. He thinks about being in a warm, comfortable sweatshirt and plopping on the soft couch before booting up the Playstation and putting on Winning Eleven so he can kick Osa--

Atsumu clenches his fist so hard until he feels lightheaded. A part of him knows that somehow things are only going to get worse.

***

The Miya family eats their dinner quietly, except maybe for Atsumu who has only managed to scoop up one spoonful of the curry rice. The rest of his food remains untouched on the plate, swirling around in a savory brown paste of curry sauce. Atsumu could have sworn he was famished by the time they got home, but once the fluffy rice meets his lips, it’s as if a switch was turned on and Atsumu began to feel a headache coming instead. 

“Are you still going to finish that?” Atsumu’s mom asks, eyeing the plate still full of meat chunks and rice.

“I’m just not feeling well,” Atsumu releases his hold on the spoon and it’s as if a weight has also been lifted from him.

“It’s alright, Atsumu,” his dad says. “You can go rest up.”

Atsumu nods. “Thank you for the meal.”

When Atsumu swings the door open to their bedroom, he realizes that it’s been a year since he last visited their family home. He switches on the lights and steps inside to see that the room is tidy and immaculate. He thinks about how Osamu probably cleaned up the room for the both of them and Atsumu suddenly doesn’t want to sleep or even so remotely sit on the made up bed, worried that he might rumple the pristinely tucked in sheets.

“‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat. He’s here, he thinks. He can hear him clear as day. Osamu is here.

“‘Tsumu?” 

“‘S-Samu?” he whispers slowly.

“Atsumu?”

Atsumu turns around and his mom is standing by the doorway, worry evident on her face.

“Is everything alright?” she asks him.

  
“Yeah,” Atsumu leans against their bunk bed as he tries to steady his labored breathing. “I’m okay, mom.”

The expression on his mom’s face softens a little. “You didn’t cry at all, you know. You hardly did even at the hospital.”

Atsumu doesn’t speak and that familiar nauseous feeling comes back, coiling inside the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s okay to be upset, Atsumu." His mom steps into the room. She tries to smile, but it wavers almost immediately, her chin quivering as an onslaught of tears start rolling down her cheeks.

Atsumu draws her in with his good arm. She’s small, he notices. And guilt pricks at his skin like thick raindrops in a summer storm. Atsumu can’t begin to fathom the unique pain his parents are experiencing, but as he continues to hold his mother close, her tiny frame unmistakably fragile in his arms, the guilt ebbs and flows inside him and every single time he feels it slink away from the surface, he feels anger take its place.

"It's okay, mom," Atsumu whispers against the top of her head. "We're going to be okay."

***

The last time Atsumu has dreamt about anything, it was probably when he was 19. It wasn’t anything worth remembering, just an amalgamation of images that flashed briefly to form a series of trippy sequences. 

But tonight, Atsumu dreams vividly. 

_He’s eight years-old and so is Osamu. They were at a clearing, a field so similar to the one they used to play at as kids. Perhaps it was the same one. It smelled like the same field, a distinct earthy aroma of dewy grass. He remembers how there was a river by the south of the clearing and when it overflowed from too much rain, it flooded beyond the banks at times, leaving the soil and lush green blades beyond soaked._

_Atsumu could smell it around him as he stands at the base of a giant tree. He looks up and sees Osamu already perched on a thick branch._

_"Come on, ‘Tsumu!" he beckons. "You're too slow!"_

_A low-hanging branch comes into Atsumu's line of sight and he reaches out, pulling himself up on the branch. He keeps going and going as Osamu continues to tell him to climb faster._

_"Come on, ‘Tsumu!"_

_"Wait up!" Atsumu is just a branch away from reaching his twin when a snapping sound echoes loud and clear._

_"’Tsumu…" Osamu trembles as the jagged edges of the crack from the branch where he's sitting widens._

_Another snap and another._

_"’Sam--"_

_The branch gives way and Osamu falls into nothing but the darkness below and Atsumu is desperately shouting his brother's name, but not even a squeak leaves his mouth._

It's pitch black in their bedroom when Atsumu wakes up panting and gasping for air. He sits up too fast, but he brushes aside the oncoming dizziness to make a mad dash for the bathroom where he throws up violently in the toilet.

His body goes limp after a few moments, the cool bathroom floor seeping through the thin material of his pajama pants. After regaining enough strength back in his legs, he pulls himself up from the floor and proceeds to rinse out his mouth in the sink.

The entire time he's in the bathroom, he avoids looking at his reflection in the mirror.

***

Meian had told Atsumu that he would be picking him up from his house the following morning. Atsumu wishes he could say that he had to get up early and get ready for when Meian does arrive, but in reality he hardly caught a wink of sleep.

“Did you really have to leave today?” Atsumu’s mom asks while preparing breakfast. She sets down a bowl of rice in front of him and the sight of it makes his stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Uhh, yeah,” Atsumu picks up his chopsticks and begins to pick apart the grilled mackerel on his plate. It’s much harder with one hand in a cast, but he makes do and eventually manages to nibble on enough fatty mackerel flesh to feel satiated. “I need to let our team doctor know about my injury as soon as possible.”

“I see,” his mom replies. She pulls out one of the chairs and sits right across Atsumu. “You haven’t touched your rice at all. Is anything wrong?”

“I, uhh, I’m under a new diet regimen,” Atsumu lies. “Minimal carbs.”

His mom sighs. “Well what am I going to do with all the onigiri I packed for you?”

Atsumu doesn’t answer and continues to pluck out the bones from the mackerel.

“Fine,” his mom relents. “I’ll just give them to your father. I’ll cut up some fruit for you to take instead.”

“Thanks, mom,” Atsumu says quietly. “Really, I mean it.”

A soft smile appears on his mom’s face and for a split second Atsumu worries that she might start crying again. Much to his surprise, the smile remains and she even manages to keep any tears at bay.

“You better finish up already. That teammate of yours will be arriving soon.”

Atsumu scarfs down every remaining morsel of the fish. He leaves the bowl of rice completely untouched.

***

The dorm is empty when Atsumu arrives. Everyone’s out for practice, he thinks to himself. He managed to drop by their team doctor’s clinic as soon as they made it to Osaka. The doctor simply rehashed everything his physician in Hyogo had told him, but more importantly he assured Atsumu that he could still play even after taking the cast off. This knowledge made Atsumu internally breathe out a sigh of relief. After everything that has happened, he needed some good news.

The effects of having very little sleep from the night before bears down on Atsumu as soon as he steps foot inside his room. Exhaustion thrumming in his bones and the firmness in his tense joints dissipating as he flops onto the warmth of his bed. He exhales before completely going pliant under the grip of slumber and he eventually dozes off, still in the clothes he wore when he left Hyogo.

_It smells like soil and rain. The grass is wet beneath Atsumu’s bare feet and he realizes that he’s eight again and that he’s found himself in the same clearing as the one from before. The sun is beating down on him and the scent of damp earth becomes more heady causing him to scrunch up his nose._

_“‘Tsumu?” Osamu’s voice is gentle, pleading._

_“‘Samu?!” Atsumu turns around, snapping his head from left to right as he searches for the source of the voice._

_“‘Tsumu!” There’s now an urgency to his voice, tinge in fear and panic._

_“Where are you, ‘Samu?!” Atsumu cries out. He starts running aimlessly, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells out his brother’s name._

_“‘Samu!”_

_Atsumu soon stops in his tracks when a smell pricks his nose. He takes a more cautious whiff then grimaces at the rank stench. It stinks of rust, a thick and stale metallic scent and it almost makes Atsumu gag. He unconsciously looks down at his feet and his eyes widen at the sight of dark red rivulets that have pooled between his toes._

_“‘Tsumu why?”_

_The voice is coming from behind Atsumu and it makes his stomach drop. He turns around slowly, the beating of his heart wild and rapid against his chest. What he finally sees makes him visibly shudder._

_“‘Tsumu why?” Osamu asks, bloodied and bruised. “Why did you let me die?”_

_“I didn’t, ‘Samu,” Atsumu’s voice is hushed and it quivers with every enunciated word. “I swear ‘Samu I--”_

_“I hate you, ‘Tsumu!”_

_“‘Samu please--”_

_“I hate you! You left me!”_

_It echoes everywhere and his screams grow louder and louder. Atsumu trembles and he’s unable to move when he realizes that he’s sinking into the soil. The smell is unbearable and as he is swallowed deeper and deeper, he sees Osamu looking down at him._

_“It should have been you, ‘Tsumu…”_

Atsumu is startled awake by the series of knocks on his door. He sits up and wipes the sweat from his brows before scrambling out of bed and flinging the door open.

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto greets him brightly. “Did I wake you? Sorry about that.”

“No, I was just getting up actually,” Atsumu pats down the bedhead he knows he’s acquired from his nap. “You guys back from practice already?”

Bokuto laughs and he fondly ruffles Atsumu’s head. “It’s evening already, silly. C’mon, we brought home dinner.”

Atsumu joins his teammates in the dining hall. He pulls up a chair beside Sakusa and gingerly sits down. He realizes he hasn’t eaten anything since arriving in Osaka and his stomach begins to rumble for attention.

“How did it go?” Sakusa asks. “The doctor’s visit, I mean.”

The arm inside his cast starts to itch and Atsumu attempts to shove a finger in the small opening of the cast to try and relieve it. “Okay, I guess. Long as I get to play after I get this fucker off, I’m good.”

“I see,” Sakusa is wiping down his plate and his personal utensils with a paper towel. “And everything else?”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Okay enough talk,” Meian interrupts. “It’s time for dinner.”

“Here you go, Atsumu-san!” Hinata slides a plate with two onigiri, one of which is topped with fatty tuna slices and spring onion. “We even got you your favorite one!”

Something catches in Atsumu’s throat and the hunger that stirred in his gut is gone in an instant. He finds it a little difficult to breathe all of a sudden, like something made out of thick sludge has made its way down his windpipe. The usual boyish banters and exchanges of his teammates all blend in the background, just hazy white noise. All he sees and smells is the plate of onigiri and the aroma that wafts from it is sharply reminiscent of the one from his dream and it makes Atsumu gag.

“Hey are you okay?” Sakusa brings a glass of water to Atsumu’s face. “You need some water?”

Atsumu doesn’t respond, but instead he stands right up from his chair and excuses himself curtly to go to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the tap then kneels in front of the toilet where he starts gagging and it’s painful because nothing comes out. Just spit and water mixed with bile and it burns his throat. He shudders once he feels like there’s nothing left to heave out and he spits out what remains in his mouth before flushing the toilet and picking out a mouthwash to gargle with.

Before leaving the bathroom, he feels something vibrate in his pocket. His phone, he remembers. 

“Hello?” Atsumu answers, voice still hoarse and raw.

“Atsumu?” His mom’s voice.

“Mom?” 

“Yes, it’s me.” She sounds almost fidgety. “There’s something important I have to tell you.”

“What is it?” Atsumu leans against the bathroom’s tiled walls. 

“It’s about your brother’s restaurant,” she says. “The estate attorney came by today and she said she wanted to speak with you.”

Something twists harshly inside Atsumu. “What did she say about the restaurant?”

His mom takes in a sharp breath. “Apparently Osamu made this contract or document before that says he’s leaving the restaurant to you if anything should happen to him.”

An incessant ringing starts to reverberate in Atsumu’s ears and he realizes that he’s shaking. 

“It wasn’t a will or anything like that,” his mom continues. “But yes he’s leaving Onigiri Miya to you, Atsumu.”

“Mom I have to go,” Atsumu replies quickly. 

“Atsumu wait--”

“I said I have to go!”

Atsumu hangs up while exiting the bathroom. He takes a deep breath, but he notices that he's still trembling slightly. He clenches his fist, forcing the tremors out of his body.

_Fuck this._

"You okay, Miya?" Inunaki appears from the corner. "Cap told me to check on you."

"Yeah," Atsumu replies. He flashes Inunaki a relaxed grin then playfully throws his uninjured arm across their libero's shoulders. "Let's go back out there and enjoy the rest of the evening, 'kay?"

"O-okay?" 

"In fact, I think I'm up for a few drinks," Atsumu says. After turning a corner, they eventually rejoin the rest of the team in the dining hall. "What do you say, Cap? Round of drinks?"

Meian looks at the two, glancing first at a visibly bewildered Inunaki then switching to a beaming Atsumu. "I guess one round won't hurt. After all, we don't have morning practice tomorrow."

"That's the spirit, Cap!" Atsumu remarks. He releases Inunaki from his hold then plops right back down on the same seat beside Sakusa who raises an eyebrow at him.

"What's going on, Miya?" 

"What's going on is that _we_ are going to get shit-faced drunk, Omi-kun."

That look on Sakusa's face doesn't budge the slightest. It's the same one his mom had given him on that first night he was in their bedroom, and it suddenly begins to piss Atsumu off.

"Look why don't you pull that stick outta your ass and loosen up?" He tells the wing spiker. Atsumu spots Barnes already beginning to fill glasses with umeshu and he unceremoniously picks one up which he shoves in front of Sakusa. "Bottoms up, Omi-kun."

"No, thank you," Sakusa declines tersely, putting a hand up. "In fact I'm going to wash up and head straight to bed."

Atsumu watches his teammate take his leave, but before Sakusa completely rises from his seat, he leans over until his face is just a couple of inches from Atsumu's.

"You don't have to do this, Miya," he tells him. Then Sakusa gets up and exits the dining hall.

He knows that. Atsumu of all people knows, but he's still going to drink himself stupid. Because he's going to make damn sure that when he inevitably passes out, the alcohol will be kind enough to him and make sure he gets through the night without a single dream.

Atsumu turns to his teammates and raises his glass. "Cheers, everyone! Here’s to me getting this goddamn cast off in six weeks!"

***

Somehow Atsumu manages to stumble inside his room and even crack open his window because the alcohol has made it too stuffy in his quarters. He soon falls face first on his bed before eventually relenting to a drunken slumber.

_"We made it, 'Tsumu."_

_They're both standing on a massive tree branch and Atsumu could feel the rough bark dig into the pads of his feet. He turns to his right and Osamu, a child of eight just like him, is looking down below._

_"'Samu? W-what are you doing?"_

_"You promise to never leave me, Tsumu?"_

_The branch creaks beneath their feet and Atsumu automatically grabs hold of Osamu's sleeve._

_"Let's go together," Osamu snatches Atsumu's wrist and grips it firmly in his hand. His movements are subtle, but Atsumu catches on quick as he notices his very own twin inching closer and closer to the edge of the tree branch. “No one’s leaving anyone behind. Not anymore.”_

_A sudden gust of cold wind pinches Atsumu’s cheeks. It causes him to shiver, but Osamu’s hold is solid and it grounds him and everything is suddenly dead quiet, a silence outstandingly thick it almost smothers Atsumu._

_“Ready, Tsumu?”_

_One minute the tips of his twin’s toes simply dangle over the branch’s edge. The next, he’s leaping off and Atsumu senses a gentle tug of his arm, his own feet dragging along the creases of the bark. But a harsh pull across his midsection causes him to fall backward and Osamu’s fingers have slipped off, his figure forever vanishing into the pitch black dark._

_“No! No! ‘Samu!”_

He’s awake and sweaty and aggressively flailing in someone’s arms. Momentarily dazed, he eyes the wide open window in front of him and he continues to thrash around.

“Miya calm down!” Sakusa tells him.

“I let ‘Samu die!” Atsumu cries out. Tears fill his eyes and the words that leave his mouth are garbled and sloppy. “I let 'im die, I let 'im die! S'all mfault!”

Atsumu senses Sakusa tightening his embrace, steadying him as sobs wrack his entire body. He wants to scream and shout, but all he can do is cry and cry in unimaginable, searing pain. And he pours it out of him all at once until he wishes to be completely empty and raw. Everything he’s held back becomes a gnarly concoction of anger, regret, guilt, and most especially sadness. It strongly occurs to him that he is drowning in a kind of sadness he wouldn’t wish on anyone. It is excruciating because he’s known all along that nothing he will ever do can bring Osamu back. 

As his twin had told him, he’s doomed to be alone. He understood it as a simple lie before, one uttered a hundred times as a form of playful provocation, because he always knew that he had Osamu. He had Osamu to put up with him, to encourage him, and to tease him. He had Osamu to reminisce with, to compete with, and most importantly to grow old with. 

But it’s devastatingly true now. Atsumu is alone because Osamu is gone for good.

“Shhh…” his teammate rubs his back. “It’s okay, Miya. It’s okay.”

And Atsumu wonders how true those words will be.

***

Hospital smells are among the worst in the world, Atsumu concludes. It's the sting of antiseptic that hurts his nose along with the clinical odors of medicine and contagion. 

He’s woken up after the nurse pulls back the blinds and the sun reaches inside the hospital room just obnoxiously enough to serve as a natural alarm clock. After cracking an eyelid open, he spots the IV drip that’s attached to his good arm. He makes an attempt to remember the events from the night before, but it merely results in a headache that nudges with aggression at his temples and eventually spreading to the back of his head.

“Here,” the nurse kindly offers a cup full of liquid. “You’re dehydrated so you need to drink this.”

Atsumu wants to speak, but his tongue feels heavy and he can still taste faint traces of alcohol and maybe just a smidgen of bile. As he takes the cup from the nurse’s hand, a knock on the door startles Atsumu and he barely keeps the cup steady in his already weak grip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get that,” the nurses hurries to the door, but Atsumu already knows who’s at the other end even way before the nurse swings it open.

“Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto steps in cautiously, a bouquet of flowers in his arms. “You awake?”

Instead of saying anything, Atsumu raises the plastic cup in his hand and sheepishly smiles at his Black Jackals teammates.

“Atsumu-san!” Hinata greets him warmly. He presents two plastic containers stacked one on top of the other. “We got you lots and lots of fruits, see?”

The last one to enter was Sakusa who definitely considers being in a hospital as an act of torture, but as he amusingly shrinks into himself--all over six feet of him--he manages to still give Atsumu the smallest acknowledgement with a quick nod.

“How are you feeling?” Bokuto asks. “They said you were really dehydrated.”

Atsumu clears his throat and he senses the rawness of it, scratchy and rough. “ I’m good. Head hurts like a bitch though.”

“That’s most probably your hangover,” Sakusa drops casually. 

“That’s it I’m never drinking again,” Atsumu states plainly. He notices the way his teammates very briefly glancing at each other and so he takes a deep breath then settles the cup by the bedside table.

“I messed up, okay?” he confides almost like a surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“Miya,” Sakusa steps closer until he’s touching the edge of the hospital bed. “I saw you nearly jump out of your window. And when I pulled you back, you were crying in my arms. And the only thought I had was ‘how can I possibly help a friend who has this stupid aversion to reaching out?’ “

Sakusa’s words are an arrow whizzing into the air and it hits Atsumu dead center. A perfect bullseye. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sakusa continues. “We’re your friends, Miya. You don’t have to be alone.”

Alone. Alone. Alone. That’s all Atsumu knew when Osamu died. Alone. Maybe he doesn’t have to be. Maybe.

“I miss him,” Atsumu mutters. “I miss my brother so fucking much. I miss him and I’m so mad because I wish….I wish I could have told him that he deserves to be happy. And yeah he’s a brat and he likes to pick on me, but he was always there, you know?”

The tears are dripping down his chin and on to the white hospital bed sheets. Atsumu sniffs hard and he’s sucking in air through his teeth.

“He was the one I told everything to. ‘Samu was my best friend in the entire world,” Atsumu sobs. “And he’s gone.”

The headache has turned into a full-blown hangover migraine as tears continue to stain his cheeks. He almost doesn’t notice Hinata place a hand on his shoulder.

“We might never understand your pain, Atsumu-san,” Hinata tells him. “But we hope we can at least help you tune it down from a hundred to ninety-nine.”

“Or ninety-eight,” Bokuto chimes in. 

Atsumu manages to let slip a chuckle, but his eyes are still completely wet and his chin still quivers with every breath he takes.

Somehow after the outpouring release, the emptiness he’s always feared is surprisingly distant. Unbeknownst to him, it had already curled around Atsumu before, heavy and apparent, but he had grown numb to it. After all, it was always in Atsumu’s nature to do everything he can to be stronger, better. It was what made him great, but now in the face of his greatest affliction, it had served as his downfall. Osamu, after all, was his biggest blessing. He’s always been there. But the universe had violently snatched his twin away from him and Atsumu, absolutely unguarded at that instant, tirelessly built a wall he had hoped would protect him. Because it hurt too much and he responded the only way he knew how.

“He’d call me a bitch cry baby if he were here,” Atsumu rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. “But he’s not wrong. I was always the cryer between us two.”

“A peculiar set of twins you guys truly are,” Sakusa deadpans.

Atsumu smiles and a light touch of relief sings in his chest. “Unlike any other set of twins in the world.”

***

_**Epilogue** _

The twins spend their 24th birthday together outside. Autumns in Hyogo are pleasant. Beautiful and scenic and the temperature comfortable enough for leisurely strolls.

Atsumu kneels in front of the smooth stone monument and pops open an ornate bamboo container. In it are two onigiri which he carefully transfers to a plate before setting it in front of the monument. 

“Happy birthday, ‘Samu,” he says, picking up his own share of the rice ball. “Eat up.”

The taste of the onigiri fills Atsumu’s mouth as he takes an eager bite. Admittedly, it’s not the same one he’s grown accustomed to in recent years. “Yours was always the best, ‘Samu. Still is.”

He takes another bite, one big enough for the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I struggled a bit with this fic because I had to unearth all the feelings of grief I had felt when I too had experienced death in my own life. Allowing myself to feel those same feelings when close friends of mine had died on separate occasions in the past was tough, but in some way cathartic as I wrote this fic. 
> 
> Anyway, I truly love the Miya Twins and I think they're one of the most unique anime-manga siblings I have ever encountered. They capture so much of what it means to have siblings especially with not being so up front with your feelings because you have your own unique way of expressing love and affection. After all, you don't get to choose your legitimate, blood family, and I think the exploration of the Miya Twins' relationship in the series really fleshed out that strange bond of family, but in a heartwarming albeit chaotic way.
> 
> To end, I would just like to say that I hope this fic was okay overall. And I hope everyone of you folks stay safe and healthy.


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